


John Watson gets a life...

by FeliciaHM



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post Reichenbach Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaHM/pseuds/FeliciaHM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After watching Sherlock Holmes fall from the roof of St. Barts, John Watson discovers what friends are willing to do for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know how Sherlock Holmes is owned between the public domain (in some areas), the estate of Dame Jean Conan Doyle, the BBC, or even ABC at this point.
> 
> I think the best disclaimer comes from ABC after a prompt: "Our project is a contemporary take on Sherlock Holmes that will be based on Holmes, Watson and other characters in the public domain, as well as original characters. We are, of course, respectful of all copyright laws and will not infringe on any stories or works that may still be protected."
> 
> I will need to apologize to several real people. First up: Stephen Fry.

Chapter One

John Watson believed he was just going about his own business, unaware of how much concern he generated from the people around him.  He remained in ignorance of how concerned Mrs. Hudson was becoming of his mental health.  In the end, she reached out to the only person she thought might break through John’s state of mind.

“Is this Sarah Sawyer?” There was a pause, “The doctor.”

Annie Storker, Sarah’s receptionist and general aid-de-clinic said this caller sounded a bit desperate though she refused to say why she must speak to Dr. Sawyer- _now_. Annie insisted Sarah talk to the woman.

“Yes it is. How can I help you?”

There was another pause. Sarah wondered if the woman was afraid of someone and was prepared to give the social assistance number.

“It’s John. I hope you can do something. I did not know who else to call. He won’t speak to the brother.” The woman whispered into the phone.

“What is he doing to you? Are you-“

“Not me! Him!” The exclamation startled Sarah, but the woman rushed on. “Oh dear.  You have it all wrong. It's not me I am concerned about, it’s him. He has only left the flat for Tesco and nothing else…” Sarah readied herself to interrupt the flow and refer the worried woman to the right service.  The woman’s next utterance stopped her completely, “...ever since Sherlock died.”

John Watson. The horrible headlines came unbidden to Sarah’s mind along with pictures on the telly of John’s back as he fled the press day after day.

“Mrs. Hudson, is it?”

“Yes my dear, that’s me.”

“I will be there this evening.”

“Thank you. I’ve been so worried.”

“What can you tell me?”

The next ten minutes consisted of Mrs. Hudson pouring out her concerns for John Watson to Sarah, who in turn did not inquire why Mrs. Hudson did not contact John’s sister. Sarah wondered if the woman had been left by the wayside in the vortex that had been Sherlock Holmes, as much a casualty as John’s work at the clinic. First she heard that John Watson only left Baker Street for shopping because Mrs. Hudson refused to continue to do so.  When she learned that John suffered from nightmares on a nightly basis, though he refused Mrs. Hudson suggestion to visit the psychologist, it was enough for Sarah to leave the clinic early so she could visit her former colleague  that afternoon.

 

*******

Ousting John Watson from the home he continued to share with the ghost of Sherlock Holmes had not been easy, but it had to be done for Sarah was not one to back down from a fight for someone’s life, especially when her opponent no longer lived and breathed, yet still held an iron grip on another soul.

Her appeal to his need to be of service to the greater community finally wore John Watson down. Her reward consisted of a doctor who always volunteered to substitute for staff who needed to be off, and who was now quite beloved by the patients. She tried not to think about why he was now so available to the clinic’s needs. 

After several weeks there was another change in John Watson’s life when he left 221B for a very small bedsit. John had insisted that he could move by himself while Annie and Sarah drafted their current boyfriends to help. Since it rained the entire time they shuttled John's possessions away, having so many people turned out to be a good idea. Sarah schemed to introduce her new flame to John since he was also an ex-military man. She thought they might connect, but there was a curious antipathy from the very beginning. Soon afterward the man broke up with her, so she could only think John's instincts were right about him. 

Now John visited Mrs. Hudson once a month on his first day off. He did it like clockwork, so when an emergency came up, Sarah knew where to call for assistance.  Sarah could not tell if that was an improvement or not for Dr. Watson. He kept his schedule and completely disappeared after hours with the exception of that day.

As the anniversary of Sherlock Holmes’ death approached, she was torn between wanting John busy and his mind off the tragedy, and wanting to hide him from certain less than noble members of the public.  To that end, Annie now did double duty as the clinic’s receptionist by making appointments and trying to screen out the members of the press who would not let the story of Sherlock Holmes’ suicide rest. 

The ‘best’ of these were trying to get a scoop on the fraud for the upcoming anniversary. Sarah and Annie created a battle plan to protect John as much as they could in a publicly open office.  If John noticed the sudden influx of Sarah’s patients on his calendar, he chose not to say anything about it to either of them. 

A month before the anniversary the siege started in earnest and memorably. 

“I specifically said I wanted Dr. Watson,” the voice with the accent of entitlement blared out. 

Annie did not need to look up at the speaker, “You were told that only Dr. Sawyer is taking new patients at this time.” 

“I can’t be seen by a woman. I am a man!” 

The woman this was addressed to moved slightly away to avoid the spittle delivered by his emphasis and could only long for her audiobook. Stephan Fry was a man in her estimation. The blip in front of her was a worm. 

“I have a condition that requires the services of a man.” 

Annie recall Sarah’s patient with the multiple STDs, broken bones, and a drug addiction while she looked at the slightly overfed, perfectly pink man blithering on in front of her. She would need to do something nice for worms, considering her grievous insult.

When the man stared at her expectantly, she knew meant she had  best tune back in. “Dr. Sawyer is perfectly capable-“ 

“I cannot be seen by a WOMAN!” 

“She has seen it all. Twice at a minimum.  No need for you to go elsewhere.” 

The man looked aghast, “Don’t you have a man on the staff for issues like this?” 

“We do not need a male doctor for any particular issue.” 

Mr. Alex Welby  shuffled up to the counter for the sign in sheet, at which the man-who-must-have-a-man decided the elderly man would be a kindred spirit.  “Anyone can understand that.”

 Without missing a beat, in a much louder tone than normal from a lifetime of shouting above the roar of machinery, the retired trashman bawled “Don’t be daft. She’s a good looking woman. Someone like you,” Mr Welby looked him up and down, “Best take any chance of a clean good looking woman to touch you.” Poking his elbow at the man, the even louder voice inquired: “You must pay extra when you go out, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you mean," came the rather stiff reply. 

Mr. Welby turned to people waiting in the lobby. “How many think he should pay double.” 

The noise from the group was generally positive. The patient-not-to-be looked a bit confused, and then retreated into a decisive pose. “I am talking to this woman. Now leave us alone.” He turned back to Annie who stepped away from her counter, just in case he decided to emphasis anything again. 

“Now I want to see Dr. Watson. You cannot-,” the man felt a tap on his shoulder. “Stop interrupting me!” 

“I think you need to leave Miss Annie alone and leave.” 

“I said-,” the tap that interrupted the man’s rising voice was much more insistent the second time; turning he saw a very big grinning man. Mr. Welby’s nephew brought him to the clinic. His very big nephew.

Annie had to repress her own grin at the man's faux pas in naming Doctor Watson. The man would not be getting past the door with the Welbys behind him.

“I’m Chester. I’m a trash man. Why don’t you and I leave.” 

“No, I have an appointment.” 

“You will not see Dr. Sawyer; therefore you have no appointment,” pronounced the elder Mr. Welby. 

“I want to see Dr.-“ 

The elder looked at the younger trashman. With a nod, they bookend the pest and march him out of the clinic. When they returned, to the giggles of the lobby, Annie’s smile included both of them. “I think we have an earlier opening, if you don’t mind a woman.” 

“Mind such a spritely lass?” Mr. Welby smiled and shook his head.

 

****

 After the incident of the-fool-reporter-making-an-arse-out-of-himself-in-our-waiting-room, as it became known around the neighborhood, strangers were looked over by the regulars as they waited and were often confronted by snotty nosed children demanding to know the stranger’s intentions to their doctor, with the elderly in the room looking on in approval. 

Sarah and Annie did not realize just how protective of their doctor the constantly changing inhabitants of the waiting room could be until two weeks before the anniversary. Mrs. Freddie Gamler came in early with her devoted husband. They smiled at Annie until they saw an unfamiliar young man seated near her. ~~~~The devoted couple split up and each of them shuffled down the only aisles in the room. They moved with surprising rapidity around the obstacle course of the other patients’ feet, bags, and newspapers. Seeming to be in a race, Mr. Gamler, cane in hand, made allowances for Mrs. Gamler, in her walker, to reach the young man first.  The fact they both listed as though there was a high wind in the office, only added to everyone’s curiosity.

 They smiled at the man as they took the seats to either side of him. 

 Mrs. Gamler lifted an eyebrow at Mr. Gamler, who then turned to the young man and without preamble. “I were in France yer see.” 

The young man did not see and neither did Mrs. Gamler who raised her eyebrow even higher at the speaker. 

“Yes, right, yung man. They dropped me behind enemy lines yer see.” 

He paused as the man stared at him and his wife rolled her eyes and began to vibrate visibly. 

 “Yes, right. I spied wiv the Resistance. Can’t even remember the bloody number of blokes I ‘ad ter kill before I got back.” Mrs. Gamler smiled beatifically at her husband and then both Mr. and Mrs. Gamler smiled broadly at the young man. 

 Sarah and Annie looked at the 80+ year old man whose Cockney accent had faded a bit in the face of relentless BBC English broadcasts in astonishment. 

The young man looked at Mrs. Gamler who took her opportunity. “Parve vouse Frenchie garcon?” 

The man stared. 

“We worked togeffer, didn’t we Freddie.” 

 “Yes, right, dearie, right those were the bleeding days…” 

They both expected the man to say something, but he sensibly just kept quiet aware that the room was now watching them. 

Mrs. Gamler nodded to her husband who continued his monologue. 

“Eever that or were both boff as ‘atters. Eever way, if we were ter object ter  some bloke upsettin’ our doctor, right, considerin’ our age, we cop off. Cor blimey guv! Wouldn’t yer say?”  The cane and walker appeared to creeping closer and closer towards the man’s toes. 

Mrs. Gamler grinned, showing off her new dentures to such a great advantage the man began to fear she might snap at him. He looked from one to the other, and then to the others in the waiting room who were either studious avoiding his glance or looked at him with the same expression as Mrs. Gamler. When the man turned to look for the receptionist, Annie and Sarah had the good sense to duck out behind the counter, thus missing the man’s very slow and cautious exit while trying to keep an eye on everyone in the room. 

The inhabitants of the waiting room broke into spontaneous applause.  Both Sarah and Annie were giggling beneath the receptionist counter, neither of them able to catch their breath. 

Sarah noticed something brown out of the corner of her eye. She first saw the brown loafers, then brown trousers, then a white coat, and then the very concerned face of John Watson, “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” replied Sarah only to catch Annie’s eye and started the giggle cycle all over again. 

“Right. So you are on the floor and the patients are applauding for no reason at all.” 

Sarah smiled broadly while she turned away from Annie, unwilling to risk another fit. “I think you have it.” 

He stared at her. 

“I have nieces and nephews John; that’s not going to work.” 

“I suspected it wouldn’t.” He looked toward the waiting area which was now quiet with everyone finding a way not to catch his eye; surely a first for anyone sitting in that room. He turned back to the two women still could not look at each other as he offered each a hand up. 

The feeling that things were happening on the edge of his awareness had become rather common for him. The fact that feeling had invaded his work at the clinic was disturbing since this was the place he could work with normal people and keep his mind occupied. At least, that is what he told himself. Traitorously in the deep recesses of his mind, the word dull always came unbidden in regards to his work now.

“Who’s next?" 

“Mrs. Freddie Gamler.”’ 

John cocked his head at that announcement. “Isn’t it Mrs.-“ 

A young harried looking woman holding on to a very squirmy child interrupted him. 

“Oh no Doctor, Mrs. Gamler is next.” 

Queen Victoria could never have looked as victorious as Mrs. Gamle when the woman sallied past everyone with her husband as her rear guard, proud of her ability to protect her doctor, which would have been reward in itself, but getting an earlier appointment time made her look forward to the finding the next person to be routed out like a viper in their nest.

John just looked at all of them and did not even bother to shrug. He know knew the world was mad. All he needed to do was survive the day. Mr. Gamler and Mrs. Gamler smiled at each other, and the pang of envy hit him hard. They had each other. He had no one, and could even be trusted to keep his mad flatmate from…

He forcibly snapped his thoughts away from that edge. “Mrs. Gamler how is the new medication.”

“So good, I jus’ migh’ go dancin’ with me Freddy.”

John admired the progress Mrs. Gamler was making with her walker unaware he would have found her previous rate of speed phenomenal. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of John Watson life after the fall and before......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky me, I have no real people to profusely apologize to at the moment....

“Are you sure you don’t want work during this time?” Sarah’s anxiety was written plainly across her face.

  
“I don’t think I would be good for anyone. I would be too distracted.”

  
She looked at the suggestion of bags under his eyes and the hint of just how tired he was under that military bearing.

  
“Of course John.” Her eyes flicked over him again. “Is there anything I can do for you?

  
“No, Sarah.”

  
“You will call me, if there is anything you need? Anytime, I don’t mind.” Even she flnced at the whine in her voice.

  
“Certainly.” He turned to go, “I have Mr. Dobbson next. Thank you Sarah."

You’re welcome, John.”

  
She stared at the closed door of her office thinking how her plan to keep John Watson busy though the anniversary of his flat mate’s death had been shot to hell. Yet again she mentally cursed that suicides never care for the wreckage that is left behind. Even the most brilliant of them. Unspeakable.

  
Then her door opened and Annie’s curly dark head popped in.

  
“Did you succeed? Will he be here?”

  
“No. He is taking several days off.”

  
“You could call in sick? He would have to come in and not…”

  
“Or he might arrange for someone to come in, like he did this time. Or he might feel guilty about that too. I am not sure what to do.”

  
“Doesn’t he have any friends?”

  
“They all appear to have been tied into Sherlock and they all have been traumatized.”

  
The receptionist was thoughtful. “Family. He never talks about them, but family...”

  
“That’s a no go.”

  
They both looked pensive. “We have a few days! Perhaps we should put a suggestion box in the lobby so everyone could work on the problem.” said the receptionist brightly.

“We could hide it…somewhere….”

  
“We would not need to hide it. What would John’s comment be?” They both knew. John had said nothing about his flatmate, the suicide, or the aftermath. Every inquiry was met with the dreaded words: ‘it’s all fine.’

  
“We’ve got to think of something."

  
******

  
Much later in her darkened office, Sarah went through John Watson’s blog, looking for a name that was on the tip of her tongue, but refused to go any further. Finally she found it, looked up a number, and dialed.

  
“Detective Inspector Lestrade here.”

  
She realized that she had not expected an answer due to the lateness of the hour, now she could not just leave a message. She needed help badly, so she took a deep breath.

“Hello, Detective Inspector Lestrade.” ‘What a mouthful’ floated across her mind. “This is Sarah Sawyer. I meet you when you invested the case of the Chinese antiques being smuggled into the country.” She did not what to ever say that terrible woman’s name again.

  
“Yes, I remember. How are you Doctor Sawyer?”

  
“I am fine, but I am worried about John Watson. He has the next few days off,” she need not mention what dates that entailed to this man. ”I was wondering if you could check in on him?”

  
Lestrade took a moment before answering; he knew she had to be worried if Dr. Sawyer reached out to him.

  
“We have not …spoken a great deal in the last year, but I will see him Dr. Sawyer. I will let you know.”

  
“Thank you Detective Inspector Lestrade. It would relive us all a great deal.“

  
“You’re welcome. Please call me Greg.”

  
“Only if you call me Sarah….”

 

Greg Lestrade could not help but be better than her last dating experience. Still she wondered how the best man she knew could be so tied up with a dead man and not even notice. Hopefully DI Lestrade could help her from losing a very good man and a doctor to the siren of Sherlock Holmes, deceased.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does John do?

Chapter 3

 

 

Detective Inspector Lestrade was no coward. He had faced murderers, arsonists, a commission of inquiry, and his ex-wife. It was not cowardice, but guilt that had kept him from reaching out to John Watson after the suicide of Sherlock Holmes.

At the time of Sherlock's funeral, he was at the start of his attempted crucifixion between the press, the CID, and the bewigged practitioners of the law, who looked at taking the publicity as a chance to call all of his cases into question. When he faced month after month of questions by the esteemed members of the profession attempting to make capital  of the revelations, especially since the Sherlock Holmes was no unable to answer any challenge himself made Lestrade grateful that he always paid attention to the facts of the case presented by Sherlock Holmes, had always made sure that they were back up by the evidence or a confession, and had paid attention to everything the git had told him.

It was not a time to be seen with John Watson and possibly attract more unwanted attention to the man. 

Lestrade would always remember the day the upper echelons of the Yard realized that either they support Gregory Lestrade, and thus Sherlock Holmes, or they risked release of prisoners they knew to be guilty. What would happen to the Yard’s reputation when those prisoners reoffended? To keep their guests with the State, the Yard closed ranks behind Gregory Lestrade.

He received the Commissioner’s summons to his office one early afternoon three months after the fall, then he waited 20 minutes before the man came out of his office. The Commissioner was sweating.

“Good to see you Greg.” Before he had a chance to respond to the unfamiliar familiarity, the Commissioner kept going.

“We are just going to batten down the hatches and ride this one through. Just give your evidence and the Charles case will not reopen. When that happens, with all that money, the others decide not to take the chance.”

The Charles case had kept Sherlock busy for several weeks, the well-monied serial rapist and accidental murderer had been the first to make an issue of his convection, though Sherlock’s involvement had not been made public.

“Well that will be all Greg.”

The Commissioner hadn’t even invited him into his office before he was dismissed.

“Oh, Greg.” The man looked around there was no one to be seen since even his personal assistance was not to be found.

“I would avoid all things Holmes. It would be easier that way.”

“Yes sir.”

The Commissioner turned and seemed to hesitate entering his own office, turning back to watch Gregory leave the office.

 Gregory made it back to his office in record time only to have Sally Donavon follow him into his office.

“I am surprized to see you here sir.”

She still used all the polite forms, though he knew that she was disappointed with the turn of events. After all the taunting by Sherlock, neither Donavon nor Anderson was happy that the man’s torment had ended so quickly.

He did not answer her and looked pointedly toward the door.

She did not take the hint and stayed.

“There is one of those large posh black cars in front of the Yard, right where you are not allowed to park. One of the ones you would enter after some of those cases with Sherlock.”

Lestrade smiled to himself. Mycroft Holmes might not have chosen to kidnap the Commissioner, who likely would have had a coronary, thus defeating the purpose, but it might be worse having the facts of life explained by such a man in your own office.

“So you will be leaving us then?”

His expression hardened, then he smiled at her.

“Oh, Sally I will not be leaving.”

He resisted the impulse to looked down at his desk and ignore her completely. Instead he looked her straight in the eye and smiled without it reaching his eyes. Sally should have been cowed by events. Her uncertainty at his reaction showed as she quickly exited the office. He might as well take advantage of those little lessons in treating others that Mycroft had provided him over the years.  Only after she left did he sit down to the incredible amount of paperwork that was his life; now that Sherlock was gone.

The Inspector shook himself, throwing off the memories as he knocked at John Watson’s door again. He was now certain from the echo that the man was already gone. 

Lestrade look down at his phone. John’s number had been changed months ago; likely due to cranks calling him.  He had tried to call John’s new number for four days and had not received a response which had led him to be here.

“Just don’t do anything silly Doctor. He is not worth it."

With that thought, Lestrade went back to the funeral. John had not even looked at him, disappearing when Gregory tried to approach him.  Having lost that quarry, Gregory just missed Mycroft, who entered one of ubiquitous black cars at his approach. He had heard from neither man since that day.

When he gave up and made his way back down to the street, he wondered if Mycroft Holmes would take a call from him; especially a call concerning John Watson. Had the now only Mr. Holmes decided to wash his hands of both of them? Lestrade looked down the road considering the CCTV camera across the road.  The near ones, as always studiously avoided his direction. He then looked down the street to the farther one that, as always was pointed in his way. He waved, as he frequently did when he was alone. What it all meant, he did not know, but he did not let the opportunities pass to possibly tweak the elder Holmes. The only Holmes.

Greg squared his shoulders, mentally flipped a coin and turned to the right. If he did not catch John Watson in an hour, he would be back the next day, since that would be the worst day, the actual day of Sherlock’s death.  He would also call Mycroft. The pouncy git owed the doctor some level of concern after all he had done for his brother.

 Lestrade did not know that John had turned left three hours before.

 

John Watson did not really notice the outside world as he walked. At least he dressed for the weather.  He did stop for lights, moved out the way of people overloaded with bags, assisted the proverbial little old lady across the road, though they did not make an impression on him when he walked and he liked that very much. There were not thoughts of a flat shared with a man who was no longer. Or at least there was not until he could not help it.  This is what he did every day off. Ran away from his current flat as he had run away from his previous flat as he was running away from….

With people trying to hound him at work and at home, there were very few bright spots.  He was now used to the sound of clapping when another member of the press was run at of the clinic and the subsequent reward the change of schedule his appointments had become, but he wished he was not causing people so many problems.

 

“Excuse me, we seemed to be lost. Can you help us?” The accent and the clothes screamed American even to Watson. The three coltish young women leaned together as the brunette spoke to him.

“Sure. Where are you trying to go?” John smiled at the young women.

“Portabello road. We should have bought cell service, but we didn’t.”

They were on a tight budget.

He looked around, grateful he has not lost himself to the point of losing his landmarks on the skyline.

“Ok then, you’re not all that close, but this is what you need to do.”

The very young ladies, he discovered, were directionally challenged. He explained repeatedly, and wrote his instructions down. Then he drew a map with landmarks.  When Sonia, Joan, and Amalia waved and giggled their thank yous, all John could feel was old. He was actually at the age where there were women who even he deemed too young. When did that happen?  

He was old and alone.

With that lovely thought he returned to his walk where his mind could shut off and he would only notice heat, wet, cold and dark when it became necessary. This mindlessness allowed him to make it through the week, refreshed as he could be; otherwise he would be drinking into oblivion in his bedsit, following the path blazed by Harry and all his ancestors before him. John convinced himself this oblivion was the best option.

The enforced blindness was the only excuse to be provided for not noticing the black car gliding along the street. It finally had to double park and Anthea was forced to open the door and step out to talk to him and shout at the good doctor from behind a row of cars.

‘Doctor Watson. Do come in.”

“I don’t feel like being kidnapped today, Mycroft.” He raised his voice to be heard. It felt good to say no.

“Mr. Holmes is not here, Doctor Watson.” With that, John looked up to see that not a single CCTV camera was on them. As usual.

“Dr. Watson, it is about to rain. Someone needs take you back to your home.”

He just looked at her and refused to be lanced by that comment.

“Come into the car and we can discuss appropriate activities for the anniversary. Mr. Holmes is very concerned about the-”

“I am sorry Anthea. I came this way to meet someone.”

‘You have been walking aimlessly for hours Dr. Watson. You missed Detective Inspector Lestrade since you left so early. For your late afternoon appointment.” She was not snide, but she did not believe him.

“Why would Lestrade visit me?”

She looked bored. He could sense her desire to look back down at the blackberry.

“You will need to ask him. I could take you to his flat.”  


John glanced down the road. “I am meeting someone at the Hanging Man. You, and Mycroft, and the Detective Inspector will just need to excuse me.’

With that turned on his heel and walked to the pub.

“Dr.  Watson. Dr. Watson!”

He kept right on going. A few of the male patrons outside looked between the sultry calling voice (with body to match) and the man entering the pub.

“You sure you want to be walking away from that?”

“Oh, yes. The price is far too steep.”

The man continued take in take in the very attractive sight. “If you say so.”

John forced his way through the crowd.

Anthea reentered the limousine to the sound of more pedestrian car owners loudly objecting to be made to wait, signally the driver to go.

While still being in sight of the pub, the limousine was able to park as two cars very conveniently left  room for them at the kerb.

She settled in for a long wait while verifying that the CCTV cameras in the area were watching all the exits of the Hanging Man pub.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story.


End file.
